


Love Unrequited

by onekingdomonce



Series: Nikandros & Laurent [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, M/M, basically nikandros unexpectedly develops feelings for Laurent and has to deal with them, it was just entertaining to write, no part of me ships Laurent and Nikandros, this is completely one sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9340832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekingdomonce/pseuds/onekingdomonce
Summary: When it became apparent that he was going nowhere, Nikandros took it in stride and attempted to keep the peace, subjecting himself to the company of the prince. He made his best efforts but no matter how hard he tried, how objectively he looked at things, he could not see what Damen saw in the prince of Vere.That is of course, until he did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired by a post i made on tumblr of a headcanon i have of Nikandros developing a crush on Laurent. this isn't how i actually picture him feeling post KR but it was fun to think about and it just got away from me because i'm on break and have too much free time on my hands.  
> really though, if i have to painfully fall in love with Laurent then so does the rest of the world, Nikandros included.

Nikandros had heard much talk of the prince of Vere. He had heard that he was frigid. Cold. He derived pleasure from bringing those around him pain and humiliation, and he cared for no one. Nikandros was unsure how he felt about these rumors, preferring not to draw judgment before personally meeting a person and reaching his own conclusions. Upon receiving an unexpected letter form the prince; he had planned to enter their encounter with an open mind.

And then the prince had abandoned them at Charcy.

Nikandros rode hard and fought harder, watching in horror as his people fell around him. They fought with everything they had in them, pushing far past exertion to compensate for the lack of men on their side. The men that were meant to be supplied by the prince.

Damianos had sworn his loyalty, had pledged his integrity and truth. To Nikandros’ trepidation, Damianos had served the prince of Vere as a slave, unbeknownst to all who had thought him dead. Nikandros kept slaves in his own household, as did most of the men in his company. He knew what being a bed slave could entail. However, He trusted Damianos above anyone else. Despite his newly set reservations, he attempted to put his prejudice aside when meeting the prince.

And then, he saw the prince for the first time.

He would have laughed, had he not been so focused on keeping his frustrated anger in check. It was so typical Damen. Blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin. It did not ease his anxiety to personally behold his ruthless, calculating mind.

It was no secret that Damen trusted blindly. Those that held his affections had his unswerving loyalty. He would fight for them with his last breath, would hear no word spoken against them, would go to the grave with their spear at his side. Nikandros knew, to his absolute horror, that the frigid prince of Vere held Damen’s affections. Nikandros tried to speak to Damen about this, about the poor decision of trusting that man, but Damen would hear none of it. He claimed that he had no personal emotions tethered to the new alliance, and that the prince was on their side. Nikandros could do nothing but watch events unfold. 

It was not an easy time for anyone. Being on the brink of battle, the constant threat of the Regency looming over them. The uncertainty of the people of Akielos, seeing their king in an alliance with a Veretian, wearing his cuff no less. It was prudent that Damianos be as focused as possible, his sights set solely on reclaiming his throne from his brother. He claimed to be doing so, his mind on his country alone, but Nikandros knew better. Damianos may have held himself high around his people as their king, but Nikandros was his friend. He knew Damen better than anyone, and he knew what he was seeing. Damen had given his heart to the prince of Vere, and the sentiment was unrequited. 

Nikandros watched as Damen fought through his ache. He was frequently agitated, his usual ease and benevolence gone. Nikandros saw through his forced façade, knowing that his good mood and smiles were false.

Until they were not.

Nikandros did not know what changed. After the reception of a displeasing message from a deplorable herald and an unsetting revelation from Jokaste, Damen had retired to his rooms, his mood dour. Nikandros had gone to him, only to be met by the ice-cold prince, patrolling Damen’s door, allowing no one entrance. Nikandros had tried to argue that _he_ was the last person to be trusted with Damen in this state, and was silenced with a look so dark and unwavering that he retreated, simply from his fear for himself.

The next morning, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Damen was acting like his old self again, the joyous friend he had grown up with. Astoundingly, the prince seemed to be at his side. He did not necessarily exude the same elation as Damen, but it was clear to anyone that observed them that he was more at ease at Damen’s side.

After this change, things started to move progressively. After apprehensive travels, terrifying chaos at the Kingsmeet and a chaotic trial, it was all finally over. Damianos had his rightful throne back, his people at his side again. Most importantly, there was no reason for the prince of Vere to remain with them. 

Despite this, he was still there, much to Nikandros’ dismay. Nikandros had been very aloof with him, unable to forget his initial treatment of his oldest friend. Nikandros remembered the sight of scars, wrapped around the entirety of Damen’s back. Damen did not seem to mind them, and it appeared that he did not hold any grudges. Nikandros was unable to do so. He maintained the respect that he deserved as a prince, but beyond that kept his displeasure clear, waiting for the moment his true colors resurfaced and he left Damen’s side.

When it became apparent that he was going nowhere, Nikandros took it in stride and attempted to keep the peace, subjecting himself to the company of the prince. He made his best efforts but no matter how hard he tried, how objectively he looked at things, he could not see what Damen saw in the prince of Vere.

That is of course, until he did.

*** 

Nikandros was unsure when exactly it had begun. He often thought of that one day in the training arena where unknowingly, something had shifted.

He was sitting on a bench, mindlessly polishing one of the swords that hung on the wall when the prince entered. He had been teaching the prince the sport of wrestling for the past few weeks, much to his initial discomfort. Truthfully, he did not feel comfortable around him to begin with, and quite frankly did not wholly trust himself to not throttle him a little, the opportunity now being given to him. To make matters worse, he was Damen’s lover, and the notion of rolling around with him on the floor seemed to be courting trouble. 

“I just need the basics,” the prince said insistently when Nikandros voiced his hesitations. “Don’t worry,” he added, a sly grin on his cool face. “We will wear clothes.” 

Nikandros remembered himself right before he rolled his eyes. _This is the man who flayed Damen’s back_ he told himself as he begrudgingly accepted. His personal feelings aside, he would not deny the direct order of a prince.

Nikandros looked up when he heard the prince walk in, an untouchable atmosphere surrounding him. “Your Highness,” he said as he stood. He set the cloth he was using to clean the sword down on the bench he had been occupying and walked to the array of weapons and armor. “How is Exalted this morning?” He asked, hanging the sword up. He turned to face the prince, only to see an odd expression on his face.

“He is fine,” he said, his words sounding distracted. He raised his eyebrow slightly. “I know you refer to him as Damen amongst yourselves,” he added, and Nikandros heard the question behind the words. 

He did. It was what he had called him since they were boys, and he knew Damen liked it, a small reprieve from constantly holding himself as a king around others. Despite this, he held himself around the prince, not wanting to appear presumptuous.

The prince seemed to understand as much, because he waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I know Damen thinks of you as a brother.”

Nikandros smiled at this. He did not doubt their bond, but it was always nice to hear. Damianos was a good man. The best man he knew. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Nikandros thought the conversation would end there, but the prince remained where he was, regarding Nikandros contemplatively. He looked pensive, and Nikandros could see that he was considering something. And then, “You may call me by my given name, when we are in private.”

Nikandros felt himself still, and he simply blinked. He did not know what he expected, but it certainly had not been that. He was unsure of everything that came out of the prince of Vere’s mouth, and found it best to simply do as he was told. “Yes, Laurent,” he said, and he realized that he had never voiced the name before. It felt odd on his tongue.

Laurent nodded. “Shall we begin?”

***

Days bled together, most mornings spent wrestling with Laurent. Nikandros found that even thinking the name felt strange, as if he were crossing some unspoken line. Afternoons were spent attending to the business of stabilizing the Akielon government, and nights were spent at ease, usually with Damen and Laurent. They had begun to dine together in the great hall once Damen had healed enough to leave bed, Damen feeling that it was pertinent that his men see him among them.

“I may be their king,” he said. “But I am still a man of my people.”

They sat together that night; the long table covered with the finest of foods. Damen and Laurent sat at the head as they always did, Nikandros flanking the side with a multitude of other soldiers and palace officials. Wine was flowing, and there was a feeling of comradery in the air.

Damen and Nikandros had just been deep in conversation, so it was natural that his gaze still lingered on his side of the table lazily. He lifted a sliver of meat to his lips and watched as Damen leaned over and whispered something in Laurent’s ear. Nikandros could not hear him from his distance and the rowdy laughter that surrounded them, but whatever he said had caused a slight flush to spread across Laurent’s cheeks. He reached for his pitcher of water in an attempt to seem unaffected, but Nikandros noticed him place his palm over Damen’s hand and squeeze lightly.

The sight did not surprise Nikandros as it might have once. This was not the first time that he had found himself in one of these moments, catching Laurent in a gentle gesture. They were usually targeted towards Damen, but they were there nonetheless. Despite this, it still gave Nikandros pause to see the frigid prince of Vere stripped of his cold armor. 

Someone said Nikandros’ name, pulling him out of his reverie, and he blinked himself out of his trance to see a pair of blue eyes questioningly on him. Nikandros looked to the direction of the voice that had called him, trying not to focus on how long he might have been staring, afraid it had been a beat too long.

***

Nikandros had lost track of how long they had been practicing, that days lesson dedicated to removing oneself from confinement. Laurent was pinned beneath him, fervently attempting to remove himself from Nikandros’ tight hold.

“It would perhaps come easier to you if you were not confined in all those tight laces,” Nikandros pointed out as he grabbed a hold of Laurent’s wrist for the third time, slamming it on the ground by Laurent’s head.

Laurent rolled his eyes as he shifted his stance, attempting to remove himself from Nikandros’ lock. “I fail to see what one has to do with the other,” he responded, bracing his feet bellow him and lifting his lower body. He angled his leg and swooped it under Nikandros, quick to pivot himself when Nikandros lost his footing for a moment and released his wrist. He recovered quickly though, having grown accustomed to Laurent’s dirty tricks. He adjusted his stance and grabbed a hold of Laurent’s finely boned wrist a fourth time, pinning it above his head as he had done before. Laurent huffed and resigned momentarily, looking up at Nikandros with narrowed eyes. “I do not wish to indulge in this country’s obscene obsession with nudity,” he said, his voice deadpan. 

“It is not as barbaric as your Veretion sensibilities are making them out to be,” Nikandros retorted. “The lack of clothing gives the muscles more freedom. The body has more fluidity,” he said, unsure how exactly to explain what to him was a very simple, self-explanatory concept.

Laurent made no move to get out from under Nikandros. With a wry smile he said, “Luckily for me, Damen has no complaints about the fluidity of my body.”

It was said so bluntly and unabashed that despite his efforts to appear unfazed, Nikandros felt himself blush furiously at the comment. Laurent took notice of the color staining his cheeks and his smile widened before he broke out in laughter. 

“I… Yes- well,” Nikandros stammered, attempting to move on from the shift in conversation. Laurent took notice of this as well and his laughter increased, his shoulders shaking at Nikandros’s expense.

It was at that point, with Laurent’s easy laughter filling the training arena that he realized that he was still on top of him. He looked down at him and watched as he laughed freely. His golden hair had come undone from the leather ties he often used, and it was fanned out beneath him, some strands sticking to his sweat slick face. His eyes were bright with breathless laughter, and Nikandros found that he looked rather sweet like this, an unusual contrast from his usual sharpness. 

Nikandros thought of the ice-cold person he initially viewed Laurent as. Sometime between the moment he ran into the slave baths and found Damen wounded on the floor, Laurent at his side elbow deep in blood and now, he had come to know Laurent in a different way. It surprised him to realize that at this point, he was no longer sure if the ice had melted, or if he was never truly cold to begin with.

It was in that moment that he unexpectedly, alarmingly, felt an unmistakable pulse of desire. A throbbing sensation stilled him and had him feel as if he had been doused in ice water. The unexpected shock of it caused him to start, and his heart pounded as he got up rapidly, putting as much distance between them as he could without appearing more jumbled than he already did.

“What?” Laurent asked, pushing himself up on his elbows, his expression still soft with the remaining trails of laughter.

“It is nothing,” Nikandros said, letting out an unsteady breath. “I simply forgot that I have a meeting to attend,” he explained, running a hand down his face. He stepped forward and offered his hand, which Laurent took. He pulled him off the ground and immediately took a step back, watching as Laurent straightened his jacket. “We will work on your footwork tomorrow,” he said before turning away, leaving the arena with haste. 

Later he sat in his rooms, his arms resting on his knees as he watched his foot tap mindlessly. When the restlessness continued he stood and began to pace, walking the entire distance and back. He did this multiple times, straining to think of anything but the one thing that continued to penetrate his thoughts.

After multiple laps around the room he walked out onto the balcony, watching as the ocean lapped against the shore. He closed his eyes and allowed the tranquility of the waves to settle into his bones. The water always calmed him, always steadied his thoughts.

He was over thinking this. It was not unnatural to become roused at unexpected times. Nikandros could recall multiple different occasions where he had felt that familiar feeling without having witnessed anything particularly erotic.

Everything was fine. He took one last look at the ocean before returning to his rooms, preparing for dinner with Damen and the prince.

***

The following day they worked on footwork, as he had said. Nikandros presented the proper stance and the best way to place your feet, explained which muscles to use and what purpose they served. He had Laurent mirror his pose and adjusted him when he did not hold himself just right. Laurent appeared at ease, taking the instruction better than he had thought someone as willful as him would. Nikandros taught him as efficiently as always, trying not to linger on the small amount of distance he found himself attempting to put between their bodies. 

He did not know why he was feeling so unsettled, why he was suddenly a constant jittering mess of nerves around Laurent. Nothing was different, yet he had to repeatedly remind himself to avert his eyes, to stop looking so closely.

They ended up on the ground again, Laurent beneath him as he had been yesterday. He had not yet managed to get Nikandros on his back, but his execution was improving with time and Nikandros found himself eager for the moment he managed to get himself on top. 

They continued to grapple, Laurent growing increasingly irritated as he fought to gain the upper hand. He had more strength than Nikandros had originally accredited him and had a mind for strategically getting in and out of holds, but he lacked what Nikandros had in body mass and years of practice in the sport. He did not doubt him, though. He knew from stories that he was more than capable of anything he set his mind to. 

A few minutes ticked by without much change when they heard a rich laugh come from behind them. They turned their heads and saw Damen in the entrance, his shoulder resting leisurely on the wall beside him. "I have not seen you so vehemently determined since we sword fought," he mused, a gentle smile lifting his lips.

Nikandros rolled off.

Laurent rolled his eyes, but it came with an amused breath of laughter. "Yes well, that was different," he said. "I'm not trying to kill Nikandros just yet."

Damen's smile deepened as he stepped forward. Nikandros rose. 

"You wouldn't have killed me," he said. "I seemed to have had a habit of overturning all of your plans." 

Nikandros shifted, feeling as if he were intruding on something. He stepped forward to offer Laurent his hand, but Damen reached forward before him. He retracted his arm quickly. Why would he help him stand if Damen were here?

Damen pulled Laurent up, his eyes twinkling as he pushed a strand of hair off his face. "Are you done for the day?" he asked, and Nikandros was unsure who he was asking, his eyes still on Laurent as he spoke. 

Laurent looked to him and Nikandros nodded. "We're done."

Damen wrapped his arm around Laurent's shoulder, and he smiled at Nikandros. "We shall see you tonight," he said. Nikandros smiled in return and watched as they left the arena in arms, an implacable feeling unfurling in his chest.

***

Nikandros told himself that he was being ridiculous. He told himself this multiple times a day, but it did not seem to change a thing. 

He was making something out of nothing. Nothing had changed, and yet the more he chided himself to stop thinking about it, the more he felt his thoughts run away from him.

He began to notice things, things he would have never given a moments thought weeks ago. He noticed the way Laurent ran his thumb along his lip when he was deep in thought, his eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed. The way he sat reclined, one leg stretched out before him in a lazy gesture. 

He noticed the way Laurent whispered to his horse and stroked it’s mane before mounting. He noticed the way his eyes were always on Damen, a peaceful smile that adorned his lips so often that he most likely did not realize it himself.

One morning he walked bellow the pillars alone, the shade cooling his skin. He looked out onto the view before him, allowing the serenity of nature to settle over him. He luxuriated in the soothing sounds of birds chirping and the light breeze that gently ran through his hair.

Something caught his eye as he walked. He glanced to his right and saw two figures standing on a balcony. He did not know what it was about the sight, but he stepped closer, moving until the figures came into view.

Damen and Laurent stood together on a wide marble balcony. The sunlight fell on them, casting them both in an ethereal glow. Laurent leaned forward, his hands splayed out on the marble at his sides. Damen stood behind him with his arms wrapped around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder, their cheeks touching. Nikandros watched as he mumbled something into his ear, and the words brought a smile to Laurent’s face, causing him to lean back into Damen’s chest. Slowly, Nikandros felt that same emotion that he had felt in the training arena settle in him as he watched Damen place his fingers on Laurent’s cheek, turning his face to his. 

Nikandros turned away sharply. He took a steadying breath and stepped under the shadow of the pillars when he realized, much to his horror, that the emotion unfolding inside him was jealousy.

***

That night they dined together again. It was just as it had been every night thus far, but Nikandros could not deny that something was different. The meal had long since finished, and the few people that lingered at the table sat leisurely, laughing easily as Damen and Nikandros exchanged stories of Laurent’s futile attempts to best him.

Laurent simply waved his hand dismissively. “It is for morale,” he said. “I am not an easy man to follow. I must do something to give those beneath me some semblance of accomplishment.“

Nikandros laughed good naturally, the excuse transparent and predictable. “Yes,” he conceded, the sarcasm nearly tangible. “Surely that is it, Laurent.”

He paused immediately after he said it. He had grown used to using his name in private and it just came out, even as they were around others. To his surprise, Laurent simply smirked, waving his hand again. 

Damen raised his eyebrows at the sound of Laurent’s name, never having heard Nikandros refer to him as anything but his honorific. He turned to Laurent, a slight tilt to his head, his eyes warm.

“I told him he could call me by my given name in private,” Laurent explained, and Nikandros felt an unwelcome twinge of pain at the warmth he saw mirrored in Laurent’s eyes.

Nikandros watched as a gentle smile lifted Damen’s lips, his face lighting up with it. “Really,” he said fondly, and Nikandros had to look away as he took Laurent’s hand in his. He heard the faint sound of a kiss, unsure if it landed on Laurent’s fingers or his face. Nikandros tapped his fingers rhythmically on his knee, feigning interest in something on the far side of the hall.

How long had this been happening? Nikandros didn’t know if this had been festering in him, waiting for an opportunity to seep out of him and cloud his every thought, or if this was truly a new affair. He supposed that it made no difference. The floodgates had opened in his mind, and the thoughts could not be stopped now. 

He felt a warm palm clasp his shoulder, and he looked up to see Damen and Laurent standing before him, their gazes inquisitive. He realized that he had been asked a question.

“Forgive me,” he said, placing his hand on Damen’s. “I did not hear you.”

Damen squeezed him gently. “We asked if you would join us for a walk on the grounds,” he repeated. “It is getting loud in here, no?”

Nikandros swallowed past the dryness in his throat. He knew the smart thing would be to accept the offer, to go with them and attempt to ignore this new reality as he had been for days now, possibly even weeks, but he could not bring himself to do it. If he had any form of self-preservation, he would pick his body up and take himself to his rooms.

“Thank you my friend,” he said as he reached for his pitcher. “But I am tired. I wish to rest.”

Damen raised his eyebrows, Laurent tilted his head. “Are you sure?” he persisted. 

Nikandros simply nodded, smiling at them surely over the rim of his cup.

He stayed in his chair and watched as they turned to go, draining the wine when he heard Damen murmur something about retiring to their bedchambers instead.

***

It was much of the same in the days that followed. Their routine wrestling continued, as there was no excuse Nikandros could come up with for that, but he slowly extracted himself in other ways. He dined briskly and immediately excused himself after. Their horse racing was a thing of the past, and he began to spend much of his time in his rooms, deep in his solitude. 

He had hoped, foolishly, that his distance would go unnoticed. He had counted on Damen and Laurent being so lost in each other that they would not notice the lack of Nikandros’ presence. 

It appeared that luck was not on his side. It was dusk when Damen had come to him, asking for them to walk together. Nikandros had begun to ask of Laurent’s whereabouts, but Damen simply replied that he wished from them to spend time together. 

Nikandros could deny him nothing. They walked together, passing through the gardens as they once had frequently. These gardens held a spot in each of their hearts. They had played here as children, the innocence of youth. They had hid out here in their adolescence, exchanging stories of mischief and girls. They had walked here as adults, always deep in conversation. For a moment it had felt as it was then. 

They strolled in comfortable silence. Nikandros let his eyes roam the sparkling fountains, his thoughts quiet until he heard Damen clear his throat. He turned his head slightly, his eyebrows raised as he waited for him to speak. 

Damen looked at him contemplatively, an unusual contrast to his usual self assured aura. “What is on your mind my friend?” Nikandros asked. The sight of Damen so flustered unsettled him.

Damen ran his fingers along his stubble, taking a breath before speaking. “I have to ask, my friend. Are you… have I upset you in some way?” he asked, his head tilting in that familiar, inquisitive way of his.

Nikandros blinked, sincerely confused at the question. What could possibly have caused Damen to wonder that? He tilted his head in a similar manner and shook his head slowly. “Of course not, Damianos.” He ran a hand down his chin, unsure of what he could have done to cause this concern. “May I ask what brought this on?”

Damen shrugged his shoulders, although he still looked troubled. He continued to walk the length of the garden, passing by an orange tree they would climb when they were young, competing to see who could pick the most in a shorter amount of time. “I’m sure it is nothing,” he said, his fingers skimming the bark mindlessly. “I’ve just noticed that you have been quite distant recently.”

Nikandros froze, but he quickly recovered himself, leaning on the tree beside Damen. Of course he had been distant, and of course Damen noticed. He had been a fool to think he would not. They were like family, and no one knew him better than his oldest friend. He chastised himself for appearing so transparent as he looked up at Damen and simply shook his head. “I could never be upset with you, my friend,” was all he said. He knew it best to not directly acknowledge his distance.

Damen nodded slowly, a small smile appearing. Despite this, Nikandros could see a lingering look on his face and he knew the line of questioning was not over.

He looked at the ground between them briefly before returning his gaze to Nikandros’ face. “I must ask,” he began, and he had a look that Nikandros could not decipher. “Is it Laurent?”

Nikandros felt himself jolt, both at the name and at the implication. Damen simply stared at him patiently, making it safe to assume that he did not notice anything amiss. 

“Laurent?” Nikandros repeated, and the name sounded neurotic in his ears. _Calm down_ he mentally scolded himself. 

Damen lifted a hand to the back of his neck and squeezed. “Yes. I- I know how you felt about him at first, I remember our conversations, but I thought…” He looked off onto the gardens, shrugging once more. “I believed things had changed. I had thought you were faring well.”

Nikandros felt so much shame at that moment; he thought he would choke on it. A wave of guilt hit him so hard that he almost stumbled. Damen was his king, but above all he was his dearest friend. His brother. No part of him held any semblance of hope that his sentiment would ever be returned, but it did not stop him from thinking about it. From fantasizing about what could have been. He kept those thoughts locked away in the privacy of his heart, only to be opened when he was alone, feeling helpless to his undeniable feelings.

They may have just been thoughts, but they were thoughts about Damen’s lover. Nikandros had known Damen forever, and he had never seen him as happy as he did when he looked at Laurent. What did this say about Nikandros as a friend? As a man?

Nikandros exhaled, knowing he had to address this quickly. If he sat on the comment for too long, Damen would surely see through him.

“You are imagining things, my friend,” Nikandros said, sure to look Damen steadily in the eyes. “I will admit I had my reservations at first,” and he smiled at the small laugh that his understatement coaxed out of Damen. “But I no longer feel as such. I have gotten to know him these past weeks, and he... I know that he cares for you,” Nikandros said, and he prayed the sting of pain he felt at the final words did not reflect in his tone.

It would seem they did not, because the smile his statement brought to Damen’s face could only come from joy. His eyes lit up with euphoria as he clapped Nikandros on the shoulder. “Thank you, Nik,” Damen said, and Nikandros smiled in return at his small name that only Damen used. He clapped him back on the shoulder. “It brings me ease to know that the two of you are friends,” he continued, and Nikandros made sure to keep the smile on his face as they returned to the palace. 

_Friends_.

***

Nikandros sat in his room that night, a document that required his overseeing before him. His eyes scanned the words as he considered the implications of it, his fingers tapping the wooden surface soundlessly. As he pulled a fresh parchment in front of him, a knock sounded on the door. 

He rose, unsure who could be at his door at this late hour as he made his way over. He rubbed the weariness from his eyes and opened the door, surprise halting his movements as he saw who was on the other side.

"Your Highness," Nikandros said, shock punctuating his words. Laurent raised his brow at the honorific but did not address it. 

"May I come in?" was all he said. 

Nikandros had a dreadful idea of where this was going, and he had to put a stop to it immediately. "I've already spoken to Damianos," he said. "There are no ill feeling between us."

Laurent's gaze was amused. "I am aware that you spoke," he said. "Am I to stand out here all night?" 

Nikandros exhaled and stepped aside, letting Laurent pass through into his room. He shut the door behind him and turned to Laurent, seeing that he had already made himself comfortable in one of the chairs by the table, the stacks of documents still strewn on the surface. "Is everything all right?" he asked hesitantly. 

Laurent's lips quirked. "Everything is fine," he said. "I wished to speak to you myself, if that is all right with you," he continued as he gestured to the seat before him. 

Nikandros came forward, knowing very well that Laurent did not need his permission for anything. He took his seat and clasped his hands on his knees loosely. He stared forward and waited. 

Laurent looked at him, and the amused look he wore slipped away. His expression grew serious as he considered him. For the first time since Nikandros had known him, he seemed unsure of how to proceed. 

“I wish to speak with you,” he repeated. Nikandros simply nodded.

He clasped his hands as Nikandros had and leaned forward slightly. ‘I have noticed your… distance from me,” he said carefully. Nikandros opened his mouth to protest, but Laurent silenced him with a glare.

“I am unsure what to say,” he continued. “I understand that I have given you reason to doubt me in the past, but I would not hurt Damen again. It is crucial to me that you believe that. I think it’s important for his sake that we-“

"I admire you," Nikandros said, the words leaving his mouth in a rush before he could stop himself. He felt his heartbeat stop with them, with the blank look that fell upon Laurent's features. His face slowly became a mask of impassiveness as it shifted to the side and he simply stared into the distance, entirely impossible to read. 

Nikandros had hardly admitted the words to himself, and now they lingered in the ears of the last person who should hear them. He thought to take it back, wanted desperately to take it back, but he knew that there was no point now. The words settled between them, and the growing silence caused the pressure in Nikandros' chest to increase with each breath. 

Nikandros had no idea what was going through Laurent's head, his mind always so utterly perplexing. It was one of the things that had initially put him off, the absolute uncertainty of him, and yet now he found himself helplessly charmed by it. He yearned to know what thoughts weaved through that labyrinth of a mind. 

After what felt like an eternity, Nikandros decided that he could no longer take the deafening silence. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, when Laurent's eyes returned to him. His gaze was so heavy, his eyes so sharp that Nikandros shuddered under them. He felt as if he was about to get a vicious earful and he lowered his eyes, bracing himself. 

When nothing came, he lifted his eyes uncertainly. Laurent was now standing, and his features were like stone. Nikandros began to lift himself, but stopped when Laurent shook his head marginally. Nikandros lowered himself and watched in dread as Laurent turned to leave. 

Nikandros held onto the arms of the chair and watched him go, cursing his loose tongue and his utter stupidity. When Laurent was at the door he paused, turning to Nikandros with a hand on the handle.

“We will not speak of this again,” was all he said before pulling open the door and slipping out.

Nikandros heard the door shut and he closed his eyes, feeling the silence spread around him. He lowered his face to his hands and felt himself shudder, trying to fill his mind with other thoughts. Anything to distract himself from the aching in his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i really intended for this to be a one shot deal but a few people wanted to know how it was resolved. i initially had no plan to continue this but then The Talk with Damen kept coming to my head and the only way i can get ideas out is by writing them. If you like the open-endeddness of the first part then you could just stop there, this is for anyone who wanted closure.  
> SO this is what we got. i hope you enjoy!

Nikandros had never experienced this feeling before. He had heard the sentiment be claimed by many, had watched Damen court a number of beauties since their adolescence, but had never felt anything akin to it. He had desired some, had bedded many, but he had never craved someone so intensely that he felt remade with the need to make them his.

Until now.

Nikandros did not think he could ever feel like this. He did not think he could feel so revitalized simply by someone else’s being, and yet for weeks now he had one thing and one thing on his mind alone.

However, he could not relish in the purity of it for it was constantly overshadowed by pain. Every thought, every emotion he felt was obscured by his guilt and shame. His ever-present guilt and shame over his admiration for Laurent.

Laurent. The cold prince of Vere, who as it turned out, was not very cold at all. 

Nikandros was at a loss for what to do. Despite his best efforts, he could not seem to put a stop to these emotions that felt as if they were building with each passing day. He had tried his luck with distance, hoping that the space would lessen his affections, but it proved rather ineffective, aside from arising suspicion in Damen. 

Nikandros could do nothing but go on as before. He resigned himself to his new reality of wistfully thinking of what could have been. Of what could never be.

***

Morning light came too soon. Nikandros laid in bed with his hands rubbing his face, the sun giving his rooms an early morning glow. The rays of sunlight streaming against his skin did nothing to warm him, did nothing to settle the growing dread in the pit of his stomach. He reluctantly pushed himself into a sitting position and felt the sheet fall off his chest, pooling at his hips. He leaned his elbows forward so they were resting on his thighs and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

What now? How was he to act? He knew staying away was no longer an option, but how could he continue on as before? He did not know if he had it in him constantly hide inside himself, feigning smiles as Damen once had.

He had no idea if they were to continue wrestling, or if that small thing he considered theirs was a thing of the past. 

But it was not theirs. Nothing was between them, and nothing ever would be. It was not some foolish hope that something would blossom between them, because Damen held his heart in his hands. Damen, who had been there for Nikandros in every memory that he had. As a boy and as a man. As a friend and as a brother. As a prince and as a king. He had always shown Nikandros selfless love, and now Nikandros returned the favor with the selfish dishonor of coveting his lover.

At any rate, he knew it better that he wait on the prince and not the other way around. He mentally prepared himself as he pushed the rumpled sheets off his body and with all the courage he could muster, rose from the bed. 

 

Nikandros sat on the bench he usually occupied when waiting for Laurent to arrive. It was early, and they generally trained at this time of day as to not be disturbed by anyone wishing to practice. He was mindful of the minutes passing and was unsure if he had been sitting there longer than usual, or if all concept of time had escaped him as he sat there, nerves swirling around in his head. He watched as his foot tapped restlessly on the floor, dust particles floating in the air from the kicked up dirt. Just as he had convinced himself that Laurent was not coming, he heard footsteps. 

He looked up and felt his breath catch as he watched Laurent enter the arena, his stride steady and easy. Nikandros felt his pulse speed up and consciously ignored the feeling as he rose from the bench. “Your Highness,” he said as greeting. Did he still have permission to call him by his name? 

He noticed Laurent pause slightly before walking the rest of the way in. He nodded his head once. “Good morning,” he said.

Nikandros didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what was expected of him, so he simply replied with, “good morning.”

Laurent walked to the center of the arena and stared at him calmly, his face so neutral that Nikandros almost felt as though he dreamt the previous night. His nonchalant expression was so unsettling that Nikandros just stood there, unsure of how to proceed. 

Laurent raised both eyebrows and looked at him oddly. “Do you require a personal invitation?” he asked, motioning in front of him.

Nikandros drew in a breath as discreetly as he could manage and stepped forward, standing in front of Laurent. He did not excel at hiding his emotions, and was sure that they were all on display on his face. He felt nervous and uncomfortable. Despite how tense those emotions were making him feel, he preferred to focus on them for they were a distraction to all the other impossible things he was feeling.

When he made no move, Laurent’s gaze grew impatient. “Well?” he said exasperatedly, gesturing to the ground absentmindedly. “What is your directive?”

Nikandros pursed his lips and looked down. So that was how it was to be. He was truly going to pretend as if nothing was said. 

He knew this was probably a good thing, knew it best that they each pretend that nothing had happened, especially considering that nothing ever _would_ happen. However, he also knew that he would not be able to let it go. He wished desperately to take it back, to reverse time and take back those thoughtlessly spoken words, but he was realistic enough to not indulge himself in what if’s. The words were now out there, his feelings known, and if they would not be addressed one way or another, he would implode. 

He raised his eyes and looked at Laurent who was now eyeing him very, very carefully. He had a certain look in his eyes, one that resembled a warning. Nikandros pretended that he did not notice and determinedly pushed past the voice in his head telling him to retreat. He spoke quietly. “Will we really not acknowledge it?”

It was silent for a moment before Laurent’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Acknowledge what?”

Nikandros swallowed and spoke around the heaviness in his throat. “What I said,” quieter.

Nikandros watched as Laurent’s features shifted, his stony veneer from the previous night back. “I thought I had made myself clear,” was all he said, his tone speaking volumes in itself. 

Was Nikandros really expected to act as if nothing had happened? He opened his mouth to respond, but his argument must have been evident enough because Laurent’s eyes narrowed further. “It would appear I did not, so let me try again,” he said. “We will not speak of this now, we will not speak of this at a later time. Are you understanding?” The words were spoken firmly, and were not to be argued. He continued on before Nikandros could register a thought, let alone a response. “If it makes it easier for you to comprehend, you can take it as a direct order.”

Nikandros closed his eyes, feeling the words chill his bones. He had been so caught up in his mind that he almost forgot who he was dealing with. It was stupid of him, really. He knew Laurent well enough by now to know that he should never be underestimated. A cold remark was always up his sleeve. He opened his eyes and nodded, and Laurent nodded back.

“I have something to attend,” he said, his voice returning so quickly to its previous neutrality that it took a moment for Nikandros to catch up. “We shall resume tomorrow.”

Nikandros could only nod again, at a complete loss for what to do or say, and watched him leave.

The ache grew.

***

Nikandros strode into the hall in which they dined that night, feeling weary with exhaustion. He had trained with the sword for hours, exerting himself until he could no longer stand, his bones aching and his body dripping. After he bathed, he roamed the palace and sought out any business that needed his attention, knowing that there was no shortage of work to be done. It was only after sorting out a number of matters that he returned to his rooms, preparing himself for the night ahead.

Nikandros approached and took his usual spot at Damen’s side of the table, his seat open and waiting for him. He nodded at everyone around him before turning his attention on Damen and Laurent. “Exalted,” he said in greeting. “Your Highness.”

“Good of you to join us,” Damen responded, taking a sip from his goblet of wine. 

Nikandros took a sip of his own wine that was placed in front of him. “It has been a long day,” he replied.

“Has it?” Laurent asked, water in his hand in favor of wine. Nikandros heard no bite to the words. They seemed purely conversational, so he responded as such. 

‘There is much to be overseen.”

“You have been working quite vigorously these days,” Damen said observantly, setting his goblet down.

 _Distractions_. Nikandros simply shrugged, reaching for a platter of spiced meats. “Someone must do it.”

Laurent laughed shortly, and the sound caused Nikandros’ head to jerk up. “Are you mocking the king and his work ethic?” he asked, a smile curving his lips.

Nikandros looked at him. How did he do it? How did he so completely ignore what had happened, so effortlessly act as if everything was the same?

 _Because everything is the same_ , he thought. _Your one sided thoughts make no difference to him_. 

He knew it was true, but despite that, something told Nikandros that there was more that he was not getting. There was something about the look on Laurent’s face when he declared his feelings. He had not looked offended, or outraged by Nikandros’ inappropriate and unwarranted declaration. He had simply… shut down. Surely the prince was not unused to people claiming their admiration for him, as unrequited as it always was. Why had this been different?

He did not have the means to answer that question. He simply did not know Laurent well enough, although he was not entirely convinced it would make a difference, him being the enigma that he was. Turning his attention to the question he had been asked, he shook his head. “I’d sooner die,” he answered truthfully.

Damen rolled his eyes, waving his hand in Nikandros’ direction. “You are dramatic, my friend,” he said, but he had a fond smile on his face, despite his words.

The night continued on as it always did, conversation flowing around the table. There was a rumble around the room as stories were traded, and growing laughter could be heard. Nikandros would join in on the conversation at times, but more often did not. He instead opted to look at his plate of food before him. 

His gaze would often stray to Laurent’s, and he felt a pressure in his chest each time. It was unintentional and felt illicit, but he could not seem to stop. 

At one point he looked up to reach for his wine, only to find Laurent staring at him. Nikandros expected him to look away as soon as their eyes met, but shockingly, Laurent held his gaze. Nikandros’ hand paused on his goblet as he watched Laurent watch him. His features were blank, his eyes distant and impersonal.

And then, Nikandros saw the shift, so small he almost didn’t catch it. For a split second, Laurent’s shoulders lowered, and the drooping motion had an almost resigned quality. Nikandros’ eyes narrowed at the sight of it and he fought the impulse to drag his hands down his face in confusion.

Nikandros then heard Damen’s voice, and with that the moment was over.

“How is the wrestling going, Nik?” Damen asked, reaching for a piece of bread dipped in oil. He nudged his head in Laurent’s direction. “Has he shown any improvement yet?”

Nikandros tried for a normal tone. “My back has yet to touch the ground, so that answer remains in the air.” 

Dame smiled as he licked his fingers clean. He settled back into his chair and rested his arm comfortably across Laurent’s adjoining one. “I should warn you,” he said, “he is not to be underestimated.”

“I would never dream of it,” Nikandros said, his arms raised in front of him. 

“I do love being spoken about as if I’m not here,” Laurent said brusquely. He reached for one of the olives from Damen’s plate and popped them in his mouth, resting his chin on his palm. Despite his words, he did not look offended by their light exchange. Damen, noticing this, leaned forward with a smile and placed a kiss on his cheek. It was clear that Laurent was not expecting it, and his cheeks flushed a light pink shade. Damen’s smile deepened at the sight. Nikandros strained to keep his gaze lifted, the same jovial look on his face. 

Desserts were placed in front of them, an assortment of fruits, nuts and pastries. Nikandros pushed his plate away, already full from the various meats and bread he had eaten. He drained his wine and stood, his eyes on Damen.

“I have document’s that require your attention,” he said. “And a few matters that need to be discussed.”

Damen nodded. “I’ll be at your rooms soon.”

Nikandros left.

***

Nikandros found himself across from Damen later that night, the fire lit and warming the room. Nikandros had questioned his lone arrival to which Damen simply shook his head. “He’s in the stables,” he said, by way of explanation. “It puts him at ease.” 

They sat now, papers scattered between them. They ranged between a number of different matters that required the king’s signature, all at a different level of importance and urgency. For all his joking of Damen's benevolence, he took his obligations very seriously. He had been born for this, and he exuded his authority and capability with everything he did. He would be one of the greatest kings Akielos has ever had. Nikandros knew it now, had known it since they were boys.

Nikandros watched him read through one of the documents, his eyes flying over the words, absorbing its contents with careful consideration. As Nikandros sat there, he saw memories of them flash before his eyes. Tumbling around in the sand together. Running through the palace halls. Skipping out on their lessons in favor of practicing their sword work. 

Things had always been simple between them. There had always been ease, one that could only come from a lifetime of trust and friendship. It was with a heavy heart that Nikandros realized that that ease was gone for him, as it was replaced with guilt. 

For how long could this go on? Nikandros knew things tended to go over Damen's head, but he was a smart man. The truth would come out eventually, and there was only so much hiding Nikandros could do. There was only so long he could lie to his King. To his brother.

Nikandros closed his eyes, and felt the decision settle over him like a heavy weight.

He watched as Damen signed the final document and placed it over the others, sliding them towards Nikandros. He then looked up, only to pause at the look on Nikandros’ face.

“Nikandros?” he said, his head tilting.

Nikandros gave no response, simply ran a hand down his face and exhaled.

Damen narrowed his eyes at this, his brows furrowed. “Nikandros,” he repeated. “What troubles you?”

Nikandros swallowed once before speaking. “I have lied to you,” he said. The words were spoken softly, barley audible, but he knew Damen heard them. 

Damen blinked. He did not look particularly concerned, more so confused. “Okay,” he said calmly. “What about?”

Nikandros lowered his eyes to the table. He knew it was cowardly. He knew Damen deserved the respect of looking him in the eyes, but he could not do it. He could not look into his eyes as he bared this part of his soul. He breathed in through his nose. “In the gardens, when we spoke,” he said. “I lied.”

Damen paused. Nikandros could practically hear Damen’s thoughts as he ran through their conversation from that night in his mind. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “We spoke of Laurent that night.” His tone was questioning. Confused.

“Yes.” He felt his fingers grip the edge of the table.

Damen paused again, and Nikandros felt the moment he reached a conclusion. “You still harbor anger,” he sighed. “Nikandros-“

“No,” Nikandros muttered softly, his eyes still cast down. “Not anger.”

He felt everything still. The silence was maddening, and he focused on the crackling of the fire so he would not get lost in the heaviness of it. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes. When it became too much for him, he raised his eyes.

Damen was looking at him closely, and Nikandros could see as the realization settled on his face, as if he had to see Nikandros to truly believe it. He closed his eyes for a second before opening them again. “I see,” was all he said.

Nikandros fought to keep his eyes raised. He did not know what to say, and knew he had no right to speak at that moment. He held Damen’s steady gaze and waited. He watched as the corners of Damen’s lips lifted slightly, almost sadly. 

“You know,” he began, and despite the small smile on his face, Nikandros could hear the lightest trace of a bitter tone. “I have been told that mounting one blond is much like mounting another.”

Nikandros noted Damen’s attempt to make light of the tense situation, appreciated it, but he could not return it. All he could do was think of those words, so foolishly spoken once. He had sensed that they had unhinged something in Damen, but he had not stopped to think of how insensitive they may have been, how wrong _he_ had been. Nikandros has never lain with Laurent, held no hope that he ever would, but he somehow knew that nothing else could ever compare.

Nikandros simply hung his head, his gaze on his hands. He almost wished Damen had responded in anger, but that was Damen. Steady, caring, Damen. “I’m sorry, Damianos,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

He heard Damen lean forward, felt him place a warm hand on his shoulder. Nikandros kept his gaze lowered.

“For what are you apologizing, my friend?” 

Nikandros could not answer. Saying it once was enough. He sat in silence, feeling engulfed in his guilt.

Damen was quiet. And then, calmly, “has anything happened between the two of you?”

Nikandros knew it was not an accusation, simply a way to transition into his point, but he still jolted at the implication of it. “No!” He said, his voice insistent. “Damianos, I would _never_ -“

Damen held his hands up, stopping Nikandros’ words. “I know that,” he said. “I know that, Nikandros, which is my point. You are my friend. My dearest friend, and I trust you.” He looked into Nikandros’ eyes, his gaze strong. “You would not wrong me.”

Nikandros closed his eyes, fearing that they would reflect what was inside him. “I _have_ wronged you,” he said. “I…“ 

_I yearn for him. I long for him, every day. He is your lover, and I want him more with every painful beat of my heart_.

He did not finish his sentence. He opened his eyes and lifted them to Damen, his unspoken words hanging between them.

Damen considered him, saying nothing. He exhaled slowly, looking off to the side thoughtfully. It was just as Laurent had done the night before, when he had told him of his feelings. The realization panged in his chest, the small fact of each of them absorbing the others mannerisms. 

Damen looked back at him, an evocative, reminiscent look in his eyes. “You know,” he began, “that I’ve been here before. I remember what it was like to start feeling things, unimaginable things, against all the odds.” He leaned forward, resting his weight on the table. “These things happen,” he continued. “We cannot control the way we feel.”

It was too much. They had been through everything together. Damen is the one person he should be able to speak to about this, but he was also the one person he could not speak to about it.

Damen continued, perhaps sensing Nikandros’ unease. “I also recall someone constantly at my back, always quick to tell me of how inapt my feelings were, how ill-considered my choices were.” He said it lightheartedly, the words spoken in jest.

Despite himself, Nikandros laughed. It left him in a breath. “He sounds like a fool.”

Damen smiled. “He has his moments.” 

Nikandros tried to smile back. Damianos was good. He was too good. Nikandros did not deserve his friendship, his easy forgiveness. 

“How can you feel no anger towards me?” he asked, his tone desperate. 

Damen’s smile remained, but it took on a different nature. “Because I trust you,” he said, repeating his words from before. “And I trust his love for me.”

Nikandros nodded half-heartedly. He knew. Anyone who spent five minutes in their company knew, the affection between them so visible it was palpable, but it did not make it any easier to hear. 

“And,” Damen added, his tone gentle, “he is very hard not to love.”

“Yes,” Nikandros said softly, the single world whispered before he could realize the implications of it, the intimation of saying it out loud. Damen simply nodded once, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair and pushing himself up. “You are my closest friend,” he said earnestly. “Your presence is important to me. Nothing can change that.”

He turned to leave, but not before stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. “I love him, Nik,” he said. The words were spoken tenderly and with more surety than anything he had said that night. Nikandros looked up to him, nodding solemnly. “I understand,” he said.

Damen smiled at him softly, no spite in his eyes. He squeezed him once before releasing his arm and taking his leave, the door shutting quietly behind him. Nikandros looked down at his hands, his heart beating soundly in his ears.

 _I understand_ , he thought. _Because I love him too_. 

***

It was not long after his conversation with Damen that Nikandros found himself at the door to the horse stables.

He had sat in his bed with every intention of sleeping, of putting this day behind him, but he knew he could not. Not until he had one more conversation.

He took one look at the stars above him, allowing the serenity or the night to settle his nerves. Bracing himself for what was sure to be an impossible conversation, he pushed forward and stepped inside. 

It was dark, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. At first all he registered was the smell of leather and horse, the faint sound of rhythmic chewing. After a minute he looked around, his view sharpening slightly. He took a few more steps in until he caught sight of a golden head of hair, standing at the farthest stall, running a hand down the horse’s neck in a soothing gesture. 

Laurent turned his head sharply as he heard the sound of someone approaching, and his eyes widened before he shook his head. “You are not serious,” he said, his words a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “Are you entirely incapable of simple comprehension?”

Nikandros did not flinch from the words. He was prepared for this reaction.

“I am here to speak with you.”

Laurent stared at him in indignation before he turned back to the horse. “Leave me.”

Nikandros rubbed his eyes. He knew this would be difficult. “Please,” he mumbled. When Laurent did not acknowledge him, he resigned himself to speak to his back. “I do not know where to begin,” he said. “I spoke rashly. I did not think. I don’t…” His hands fell to his side. His heartbeat increased with each word, and he told himself that he had to at least try. He had made a decision and he would not turn back from it. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice sounding defeated. “All I know is that I- I wish to be your friend.” He closed his mouth then, watched as Laurent’s shoulders tensed. 

“But didn’t you know?” Laurent asked, his smile sardonic as he turned back to face Nikandros. “I am not a man who has friends.” 

It may have been meant maliciously, but it did not come out that way. It was said ruefully, a touch of sadness lingering on the words, and Nikandros received them as such. He wanted to take him into his arms, and ached because he couldn’t.

Nikandros took a deep, steadying breath. He had acted once without thinking and all it did was cause discomfort and distress. He knew he had to tread lightly. Laurent may have had a large amount depth that Nikandros had not initially seen, but he still had the tongue of a viper. Nikandros had enough self-preservation to keep that in mind as he stepped forward.

“I am unsure what to say,” he began, repeating the words that Laurent had spoken to him on that painful night. “I am aware that I have overstepped, and I sincerely apologize for it. I want you to know that I…” he paused, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I would never do something to make you intentionally uncomfortable.”

Laurent’s face was expressionless, giving nothing away. Nikandros’ words did not seem to have much of an effect either way, so he trudged on. “We were friends once, and I fear that I have ruined that. You said that it was important for Damen’s sake that we attempt friendship, and I agree, but it is important to me as well.” 

He forced himself to stop there, fearing he had said too much already. He was afraid, so afraid that he was making matters worse, digging himself into a deeper hole. He braced himself and looked forward, only to see that Laurent’s eyes were lowered. His gaze was on the ground, his hair falling into his face, covering his eyes. Nikandros worked past the pressure in his chest and took another step forward. “It would be an honor to be your friend,” he said. And then, quietly, “just your friend.”

Laurent said nothing at first, gave no reaction. His gaze remained trained on the floor, and Nikandros was nervous that he had in fact worsened the situation. Then, just as he prepared to turn, Laurent looked up.

He looked at Nikandros steadily, and although his eyes were sharp, his voice was light. “I do not trust easily,” he said, his tone almost like a warning.

Nikandros blinked. “Yes, that is… immediately apparent,” he replied.

Laurent considered him. “I have been known to act out in malice at times,” he continued.

 _That is equally apparent_ Nikandros thought. Nikandros would not say it, but the thought must have shown on his face because suddenly, Laurent was smiling. It was a blissful sight, and Nikandros felt it all over.

When Laurent recovered, the same considerable look returned to his face. “I have never had a friend.” He said quietly. It was almost childlike. Innocent.

Nikandros’ heart pulsed, and in that moment he knew. 

He was unsure of the extent of the tribulations that Laurent had suffered or the things he had been through, but he had been right to reserve judgment until meeting him. Until seeing only a fraction of his many layers. 

It would hurt. He was sure there would be moments where the envy would be too much, would feel as if there was a crushing weight on his chest, but in that moment he knew that he would take whatever he could get. If being Laurent’s friend was truly an option then he would cherish it, for it was not a gift that many people were given.

It was as challenging as it had always been, but Nikandros made sure to hold Laurent’s gaze, raw sincerity in his eyes. “I wish to be your friend, Your Highness. In whatever way you will allow.” 

It was silent for a few more seconds, nothing but the faint sounds of hay crunching beneath the horse’s hooves. And then, finally, Laurent lifted his brow. The motion felt somewhat familiar to Nikandros and he felt something inside himself settle. “I may not be well versed in friendship,” Laurent said, “but I’d imagine that one would do as they are told, and refer to their friend by their name.”

Nikandros stilled, the words registering slowly in his head, and then he was smiling. 

“Perhaps now wrestling will turn in my favor,” Laurent continued, a smile lifting his lips. “Your concentration seems to be straying these days.”

Nikandros flushed at his words. He hoped that it would be too dark in the stables to notice, but if Laurent’s growing smile was any indication, it was not.

“I hope so, for your sake,” Nikandros replied when he felt himself recover. “I must say, I expected more when you originally approached me.”

Laurent knew he was teasing. He simply rolled his eyes, looking entirely unbothered by the taunt. “We shall see about that tomorrow,” he said, his eyes daring.

Nikandros returned the look. “We will,” he said. He took a step back and turned to leave. “Goodnight, Laurent.”

He stepped out of the stables and felt the cool night air hit his face. With time, it would hurt less. Eventually, he would he able to look at Laurent and not feel as if his heart was sinking. Until then, they had this. They had the promise of friendship. 

_Friends_.

**Author's Note:**

> http://laurent-ofvere.tumblr.com


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